Burn Brighter
by we'reonfire
Summary: Maybe this is all a dream, maybe when I wake up, I will be in my own bed. Where the Hunger Games don't exist, and where Katniss can have a childhood. But when I hear the deafening sounds of her tears into the night, there is no question that this is a living nightmare. And nightmares only burn brighter in the dark.


**a/n**: just a one-shot that I may expand into a multi-chapter fiction in the future. review if you want me to continue.

**the 411**: it may be confusing, so here's the 411: **Peeta Mellark was reaped for the 74th Hunger Games, where he won.** And the Quarter Quell states that **only females are to be reaped for the Quell.** **And Katniss is reaped. She wins**, and this is the aftermath. And yes, **they still played up the romance thing, but it was fake on Peeta's part.**

**disclaimer:** I do not own the Hunger Games.

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Burn Brighter

"to remind all the districts that neither male nor female can overcome the Capitol; each district is to make all males illegible for the reaping." The words still ring in my ears. Even as Katniss and I step off the train, hand in hand. President Snow says I was lucky. That I was about to be put on the market. If Katniss hadn't come along, I would've been sold to the highest bidder every single night. Well, let me properly introduce myself. My name is Peeta Mellark. I am the victor of the 74th Hunger Games, and I have just brought home the new victor, Katniss Everdeen. (Who by the way, I am confused about.)  
"Was it for the Games? The way you acted?" a voice beside me asks. Yup. That's Katniss.  
"Yeah, I guess." I answer, nonchalantly. I don't notice Katniss' silver eyes fill with tears.  
"How about you? Was it for the Games?" I dread the answer. I keep my eyes on the sunset.  
"No." She breathes. "It was real." She answers. A leaden feeling fills my body.I swallow, and turn my head to look at her face. She faces forward, her long black eyelashes shining in the sunlight. It's a wonder how they don't get tangled.  
"I won. For you. Like you asked." That's right. I remember the day before the Games would start I asked her who she could win for. She didn't answer. I knew that she didn't answer because she simply did not have family or friends living.  
"Okay, then," I said. "Win for me." I said, as I watched the wheels turn inside her head. I watched the hope and fire get renewed in her eyes, and the light behind them was back. Her silver (she insists that they are the dullest shade of gray, but I beg to differ.) eyes were once again twinkling with hope. And back then, I couldn't help but pride myself on guaranteeing the district another victor.

Her voice filled with heart-break. "I thought that at least, I would have you go home to." She says more to herself, really. Then she turns to face me. Her smile is so haunted.  
"I guess I really do have no-one." She mumbles, her silver eyes brimming with a heart-breaking expression.  
"I'm sorry." I say, surging forward to crush her in a hug. I inhale the intoxicating fragrance of her long, dark brown hair. It smells like firewood and the forest. It smells like home. My heart breaks when she doesn't respond. When I let go, she smiles sadly at me.  
"I'm sorry too." Says Katniss. Why would she be sorry? "I didn't know I would be such a burden in everyone's life. I bet you think it would have been better to let me die in the arena, huh?" she asks in a hollow voice. I stay silent, listening to Effie and Haymitch whisper in the background. Muttering about us, no doubt. Then her eyes shed one tear.  
"that's what I thought." Katniss whispers, turning her gaze away from me. She blinks a few times, her eyes still locked on the sunset in front of us. The small meadow we sit in has purple rue and yellow evening primroses speckling the field. Had this conversation not turned for the worst, it would have been romantic. I can tell you this; this is the complete opposite of anything romantic. I feel a sinking feeling as Katniss releases more tears. I know that if I hug her, or offer her any physical soothing, it will make her feel worse. So I just sit and watch the sun set, trying to avoid the sad reality of the truth. Katniss loves me, but I do not love her back.

After a while, I rise to step back onto the train. I say nothing; I just watch Katniss hum a sad little tune and I leave after the tune is done. I know she isn't watching me leave, but I know the presence of her haunts me with every step I take. With one more little gaze at Katniss, I step onto the train, passing Haymitch who has a disapproving stare set on me. I vaguely hear him mutter,  
"Idiot boy," but I don't respond. I just go to my room and have an avox bring me food.

After a while, I hear the train start to move again, and I am glad for the gentle rocking motion of the train. It is hypnotic, like a spell, or dare I say it, the scent of Katniss' hair. I know she won't be able to sleep tonight. The gentlemanly part of me wants to sleep with her, to fend off the inevitable, hell-like nightmares. But the smart side of me dominates over the chivalrous. I know that if I sleep in the same bed as her, if I wrap my arms around her slim waist, I will not help one bit. Leaving her to her nightmares will do her some good. It will make her stronger, build her up so she can't tumble back down. But even though I know this, I can't help but feel a twinge or guilt when I hear her cry.

It's horrible right after the Games. It was like that when I won. The first nights were always the worst, not a blink of sleep or an ounce of grogginess. Everytime I closed my eyes, horrifying images of mutts, dead tributes, bloodied limbs burned in the darkness of my minds. I don't usually get nightmares these days, more like quick flashbacks and they leave as quick as they go. I only had my nightly frenzies until the end of the Victory Tour. They returned when I learned I was to accompany Haymitch to learn how to mentor. Only this time, they were even more horrific. I dreamt of disappointed parents, heartbroken lovers, and innocent children having to grow up much quicker than they needed to. I dreamt of Katniss too. She was one person I always dreamt of. Being reaped, being killed, being tortured. Maybe this is all a dream, maybe when I wake up, I will be in my own bed. Where the Hunger Games don't exist, and where Katniss can have a childhood. But when I hear the deafening sounds of her tears into the night, there is no question that this is a living nightmare. And nightmares only burn brighter in the dark.


End file.
